


When a Mountain Fills with Light

by itsavolcano



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, One-Shots, fun times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/pseuds/itsavolcano
Summary: One-shots, drabbles, and Tumblr ficlets. (Title taken from the same Feist song as my username.)





	1. i ain’t much for lyin’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For dilkirani: 20 "things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear"

The world is on fire around them. One of their closest friends has been brainwashed by a centuries-old evil being, leaving other friends injured in the fray. With each passing day, the situation grows more and more grim. Despite all of this, Fitz feels buoyant.

It has been eighteen hours since he, Jemma, and Mack returned from their failed mission in Bucharest. Well, failed, Fitz thinks rather smugly, was a relative term. The last hour or so of the evening had gone quite well. He licks his bottom lip, reveling in the memory of the previous night—of Jemma beneath and above and all around him. His cheeks burn remembering her fingers digging into his hips, wordlessly urging him on before calling out his name as she arched against him.

He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, taking great effort to root himself back in the present as he makes his way to the to the lab in hopes of finding his girlfriend (the word delights on his tongue). He hasn’t seen her since finishing breakfast, when they were both occupied by various tasks including the recovery of the base’s breached security and researching a possible sway cure.

Pushing his way through the lab door, he spots Jemma leaning over her bench, her eyes focused on the tablet in her hand. The spectrometer whirls and jumps in the corner of the lab and she is no doubt poring over test results. Her hair is swept up in a neat ponytail and Fitz feels a delicious desire to press his lips to the sweet spot where her neck and shoulder meet, to nip the skin there, to pull her back against him… That he can do such a thing only adds a slight bounce to his step, sending him across the smooth floor.

But before he can reach her, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other and straightens her posture, giving Fitz a clear view to the tablet screen. His stomach bottoms out and this time his cheek burn for an entirely different reason. A cold, prickly dread replaces the warmth he felt moments ago. On the screen, shining back at him once more, is the photo of Will he retrieved from her stripped phone all those months ago. 

She had said she didn’t want to waste any more time. When he had brought up Will after kissing her, she had laughed as if he was being irrational. But now, not even twenty-four hours since he and Jemma… And she was staring at a photo of the hero astronaut… The dread shifts to anger and he turns away, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else.

“You were quite right, you know?” Jemma’s voice cuts through the otherwise silent lab and Fitz feels rooted on the spot. “He really is my favorite word. My favorite everything, honestly.”

Fitz turns back around, realizing he hasn’t been discovered. She is directing all of her words to the photo and he has a sudden rush of déjà vu. He remembers another time when he nearly stormed out of the lab, unprepared and overwhelmed by the sudden sight of Jemma in Will’s arms. He remembers the way her voice had stopped him in his tracks then, too. He waits for her to continue.

“I like to think you two would have gotten along. Eventually.” She places the tablet back down the bench, bracing herself on her elbows. Fitz swallows a scoff at idea that he and Will could ever have been friends. “It would’ve taken a fair amount of cajoling and nudging, no doubt. But, well, surely three adults could’ve sorted through the muck—”

Fitz shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but he otherwise cannot move. He’s almost afraid to take a step in either direction.

“He asked me if I loved you,” she says, her voice cracking. “And I told him I did, but—well, that’s not entirely true is it?”

Confusion takes the place of anger.

“Of course I loved you, but you knew the truth of the matter, didn’t you? Kept the monsters at bay. Pushed me forward, back to that flare, back to the portal.” She takes a breath and he watches, enraptured, as she wipes a fallen tear from the screen. “Back to Fitz.”

She picks up the tablet once more, runs her fingers over the photo. “I felt guilty for leaving you. I mourned you. I grieved. You deserved to be remembered, but, well, Fitz and I… You heard the story all before, so I won’t bore you with the details once more. But just as I told him, he and I wasted too much time hiding from the truth. I love him.”

Fitz feels her confession rush through him. She isn’t speaking directly to him—she isn’t even aware he’s in the room—but still, he cannot pretend those words leave no mark. He dimly hears her whisper a goodbye to Will’s photo as she calls up the delete command, and just like that the screen is blank.

Finding his legs again, Fitz takes a few steps forward and reaches for her. His arms around her waist, he pulls her against him and she goes ridged for a moment before leaning back against him.

“How long were you standing back there?”

He presses his lips where her neck meets her shoulder, nipping the skin there before soothing it with a kiss.

“Not long,” he lies. She lets him.


	2. "Why are you pushing me away?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For dilkirani: J. Why are you pushing me away?

“Champagne, sweetheart?” Fitz appeared at Jemma’s elbow holding out a flute for her before casually taking a sip from his own. From the corner of her eye, she saw him size up the tall, dark haired man who had cornered her while Fitz went to hunt down drinks. Tonight, she and Fitz were Catherine and Malcolm MacAuley, a newly married couple who had managed a highly sought-after invitation to the Marley Estate in Cambridge.

In truth, they were there to plant surveillance in the office of the estate partners while Mack sat on comms. Just the same, Jemma didn’t mind a reason to pull on a slinky wine colored dress or to get a proper look at her boyfriend in tux. She reached up and adjusted his bowtie for no reason.

“Darling, this is—” she turned to the dark haired man and paused, “I’m sorry, this is terribly awkward but I forgot your name.”

“Steven.” The man’s cheery expression dimmed.

“Sorry, right. Steven. This is my husband, Malcolm.” With a nod of greeting to their new acquaintance, Fitz pressed his free hand to the small of her back, caressing against the silky fabric of her dress, then resting his hand at her hip and tucking her against his side. Steven raised his eyes in understanding. 

It was a predatory move—it was also unnecessary and highly unlike Fitz, but something warm and wanting flooded her. She was a highly evolved modern woman, and yet something about her husband—fake husband—acting a certain way… Well.

“Right, I’ll just—Oh, look, I see someone. Over there. I’ve been meaning to speak with her. Lovely to meet you both.” And with that, Steven was across the ballroom, chatting up a lonely looking blonde. Jemma leaned back and tutted.

“That wasn’t very friendly, now was it?” 

“I was as friendly as the situation needed.” Fitz downed the rest of his champagne and placed the empty flute on a passing tray. 

“You didn’t say a single word.” Jemma took another sip tucking her glass on a nearby table.

“Exactly.” He ghosted a hand over the lapel of his jacket before tapping along the inner breast pocket containing the bugging devices. “We have work to do.”

“I think I’m offended,” she huffed, playfully and he looked at her. “We’re to be seen sneaking off from a party to fool around in a corridor, and you consider it work.” The tips of his ears went pink and Jemma bit back a pleasead smile. Eight months officially together, and he was still so easy to rile up. 

“OK, I specifically said we are not to be seen sneaking off.” Fitz held her around her waist and began to back her out of the ballroom. “I said if we are seen sneaking off, then the dark corridor is a good excuse.”

He turned and directed her down the hall, toward the hidden office they had found via a heat scan of the grounds.

“A good excuse for what?” Her voice was low and liquid to her own ears as she pressed her back to the stone wall near the heavily locked door. She pulled him against her without much resistance.

“Jemma,” he warned, but his eyes were dark and playful in the dim light.

“Hmm?” She raised up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, her nose trailing softly over his cheek as his hands moved lower and lower, down to the skirt of dress. And then she heard it. A cough.

Fitz looked up, startled as she shoved him away. “What? Why are you pushing me away?”

“I totally forgot—” She gestured to her ear and Fitz’s eyes went as round as saucers. He turned tomato red.

“Whatever happened,” rumbled the deep baritone through their ear pieces, “to ‘oh hey, Mack, we’re getting feedback on our comms, be right back’?”

“Sorry,” Jemma whispered through her fingers, mortified.

“Yeah, sorry, Mack.” Fitz’s voice cracked a bit. He fumbled for the device in his breast pocket. “We’ll just, get on with the mission, then, yeah?”

With a nod, Jemma stepped aside as Fitz set about cracking the lock.


	3. "Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For dilkirani: AB. Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed? + Fitzsimmons

Pulling to a sudden stop at the doorway of his room, Leopold Fitz’s eyes zero in on the creamy bare shoulder peeking out from the jersey knit sheets. That bare shoulder and the woman it belongs to definitely hadn’t been there when he’d left earlier in the morning. He turns back to check the number on his front door. 42. Definitely his flat.

Struggling to wrap his head around the situation, he finally manages to find his voice. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“What kind of question is that?” The woman rolls over, not bothering to hide what her silky locks fail to cover. She doesn’t seem embarrassed—if anything, she’s mildly amused. Fitz falters but quickly looked away, his hands fluttering about in front of his face in effort to block his view. “Leopold, you’re blushing. Why?”

“Well, forgive me, but it’s not every evening I stumble into my room and find a gorgeous naked woman in my bed.”

“That’s a strange thing to say.” The woman frowns and Fitz is too distracted to ask her to clarify. She gestures to the bedsheet. “Would you be more comfortable if I—”

“Yes,” he practically shouts. Clutching the sheet in her fists, she studies him.

“Have you hit your head?”

“What? No!” She’s naked in his bed, and she’s wondering about his mental state?

“What year is it?” The crease at her brow deepens.

“2016.”

“Who’s the president?”

“Of the US?”

“Of course.” She rolls her eyes.

“Well, you didn’t specify.”

“Honestly, Fitz.” Something warm zings through him at her tone—it’s half exasperated, and half affectionate. He’s never heard anything quite like it, but he’d do anything to hear it again.

“Talbot. Is the president."

“What?” She drops her feet to the wood floor. “Do you know who I am?”

“Jemma Simmons. But uh, we’ve never actually met. I mean, we had a class or two at the Academy, but that was twelve years ago and—”

He stops when she reaches for a nearby shirt—his shirt. A navy blue button up with white polka dots. It’s one of his favorites. She slips it on and stands, the shirt hitting at the tops of her thighs, and his mouth goes a little dry.

There was a reason he’d never managed to speak to Jemma Simmons all those years ago—on top of being drop-dead gorgeous, she was brilliant, and he’d never managed to think of anything smart enough to say to her. But in this moment, with her standing next to his bed, wrapped up in his shirt, he wonders if things would have been different if he had.

He shakes the idle thoughts from his head and meets her eyes. Round with unease, there is a hint of fear crinkling at the edges. She takes two steps forward and yanks at the curtain of the nearest window. A large passenger airship sails effortlessly through the evening sky, cutting a path between two massive skyscrapers. She gasps as if the sight is completely foreign to her.

She stays frozen in place for a few minutes, but then, so low he can barely hear her, she whispers, “Not again.”

He wonders what she could possibly mean.


End file.
